"Life's either a daring adventure or nothing." Helen Keller

Five Dollars A Box

There I sat. For an hour. In the parking lot. With two, count ’em, two, cases – yes, I said cases, of Girl Guide cookies behind me. That’s twenty-four boxes, or as I calculate: 576 delectable cookies.

Willpower you are my friend; or maybe it was the thought of having to pay $120 if I ate every last crumb while Miss Q was in her Sparks meeting. One hour, 576 cookies… doable, but I’d need milk.

Turns out that while fundraising continues to hit our family like jabs from Mohammad Ali, the thought of selling Girl Guide cookies actually makes me giddy.

I was once a Girl Guide. Went from Brownies to Rangers, straight through; though the latter was done under the cloak of darkness, and I didn’t finish. You see, the ‘R’ word was scarcely breathed unless a secret handshake was given; even then all communication was given through flickers of an eyelash.

In high school, admitting you’re able to dig your own toilet, navigate by the stars, and light a fire by rubbing two pine needles together isn’t going to get you dates. Come to think of it, staying mum on the subject didn’t bring many suitors either…

I loved my time as a Guide. If I were to list every last awesome moment, I don’t know when this entry would end.

Camping definitely figures prominently. It began in Brownies, in the bunks at Milnes Landing in Sooke. Congealed spaghetti and the hilarity of watching the leaders make-up skit. One leader in front, sitting on a chair, with a towel around her neck. The other leader behind, pretending to be the first leader’s arms. The arms smearing eyeshadow on the first leader’s ear, smudging lipstick across her chin; good stuff, good stuff.

From there, camping progressed to cooking on buddy burners – coffee cans turned upside down. Underneath the coffee can, was a tuna can containing coiled cardboard, melted wax and a wick. Of course our hamburgers were cooked to a perfect 130 degrees, I write, shaking my head no.

My camp cooking must have been four-star worthy as my entire guiding career, I was only attacked by a suspicious burger once. It had been cooked over an open fire pit, by me, I think, hence the four, not five star rating. Much to my tent-mate’s chagrin, I ended up barfing in my sleeping bag because I couldn’t get the zipper open in time.

My leaders dutifully rinsed my sleeping bag out in the ocean among the bioluminesce; then burned said sleeping bag while drying it by the fire. Should have got a badge for sleeping in that for the rest of the night.

By the time Pathfinders and Rangers were in the mix, axes and shovels were part of the fun. What a sense of accomplishment we felt, and still feel to this day, that we were able to camp as almost one with nature. We’re talking leaves for toilet paper – the original Survivors.

Woven through all the (mis)adventures, was camaraderie. Though boys were whispered about under the cover of darkness – giving our leaders a juicy tell-all about life in high school- we had better things to figure out in the daylight, like how to beat the professional orienteers at their game with canoes and compasses. We came dead last.

I was a fourth generation Girl Guide, which makes our girls the fifth generation. My great-granny, Granny, and Mum were all guides and guiders from England to Sibu, Sarawak to Canada. You cannot believe how excited I was when I realized Miss Q was old enough to start her own Guiding career – Sparks weren’t invented when I was five.

Miss Q was hesitant to start Sparks, as it didn’t fit her life plan for being a ballerina, but once she got the uniform in the mail and went to her first meeting she was snared, hook line and sinker.

Okay, a little aside to Girl Guides of Canada: online ordering, what a pain in the rear. And who the heck approved FITTED t-shirts for five-year-olds, or cargo pants for that matter? Though I will say, now that the ordering is behind us, as well as the knowledge I’m going to have to buy her a larger uniform next year, Miss Q looks scrum-diddly-umptious.

Miss Q’s happiness makes me happy. I knew she’d love the songs, leaders, and promise of lots of badges and crafts. But I am cautious, wary even, of watching for that moment when the fun wains.

I have silently promised her that she can move on when ever she wants. There was a time in Pathfinders that a friend and I would stop along the way to our meetings to buy gum. We’d feel so empowered when we arrived at the meetings, late, chewing our cud. Clearly I should have stopped then, but somehow dutifully made it to the ‘R’ word. Bizarrely the dutifulness was brought on by me, I don’t remember any giant pressure from my parents.

But it’s early days for Miss Q. She made a friend at her first meeting, a paper turkey plate at her second, and cannot wait to go back.

So as my husband grimaces as yet another fundraiser crosses our doorstep, I am making plans to re-live my youth.

Sadly cookie selling door-to-door isn’t a unit activity anymore. In the golden years one was paired up with an older girl, route map, and station wagon. Now, parents are talking about taking the crates to work, or just buying them outright and freezing what they don’t immediately eat.

As tempting as it is to check Pinterest for tasty ways you can use up a box or twelve, it will be just Miss Q and I, minus the station wagon, pounding the pavement this month. Hopefully she’ll let me utter the famous words for old times sake: Would you like to buy a box of Girl Guide cookies? Five dollars a box!

Me

I enjoy watching soccer in the rain. Most of our crafts involve glitter, finger paint or both. I am learning to eat my vegetables. And, whether in socks or bare feet, I absolutely hate stepping on Lego. Here I blog about life with my three little girls, husband and dog.